Every Dog Has Its Day
by Sleepwell-Silverfox
Summary: Hi! You know us individually as Sleepwell and Silverfoxpunk. This is our first collab together and we really hope you read and review our two chapter Damon/Brady Slash pairing. Brady was the hot werewolf from Season 2: eps 13 & 14! Mature themes
1. Hunter

**Hi, we are Sleepwell and Silverfoxpunk and you are about to read our collaborative work. We both publish separately under our own names, so feel free to check those out.**

**Please be advised that this story explores the plot developed in Season Two, eps 13/14 and therefore contains some graphic depictions of werewolf-vampire brutality along with the development of mature (hot!) Slash in the second chapter. If this is not your thing, you should leave now—we'll see you at our next collaboration!**

**Enjoy, and don't forget to review...**

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><p><strong>Every Dog Has Its Day<strong>

****Chapter 1: Hunter**  
><strong>

He could never sleep after sex. Sex and human blood. Sex and blood combined with the rush of adrenaline from the fight made slumber impossible. He was restless. Tossing and turning was pointless. He was not going to drift off anytime soon. Getting up, he left Andi sleeping the sleep of the dead. Envied her. Her life was simple, all of her problems easily compelled away. He paced around the boarding house. Reliving the night's events was going to be all he was good for. Joy.

The fight with that pack of werewolves. How had it gone so wrong, so fast? One minute he and Stefan were controlling the massacre. Ripping hearts out. It felt good, good to stay sharp, good to see Stefan kill. But one lapse in concentration and then, bam! That she-bitch had shot him. Taking advantage of his momentary failing, that dog had been set to impale him.

And then to be rescued. By a warlock, no less. Sent packing. Rather 'tail-between-the-legs'ish. More fitting for the werewolves. Not the vampires who had been forced to leave the scene. Victorious. Yet, somehow not. It was beneath them. But Blondie was in no condition to fight. And that interfering warlock had made it pretty clear that the fight was over. For now.

Just pacing wasn't enough. The itch, the need for the kill consumed him, pricked at his flesh. Andi's blood snaked through his veins. He felt powerful. Wanted more fight. Wanted to finish what was started. He told himself that he should do this for his kind, for his brethren, but he wasn't kidding himself. He had no illusions about what was really going on. Each vampire out for himself. Leave the pack mentality to the hounds.

So for the blood, for the hunt, he now found himself in the woods. Drawn back to the trailer. That ridiculous RV. As cheap and low-rent as the dogs who owned it. He was itching to have another go at that insolent upstart of a werewolf. The one called 'Brady'. That mocking grin and portentous stare still etched in his brain. An image he couldn't shake. He clenched his fists. This would only be over when that mutt's eyes were wide with the shock that his heart was beating in a victorious vampire's hand.

He'd known that werewolves were strong. Hell, he'd observed the Lockwoods. But werewolves as a breed were proving to be no match for vampires if tonight was any indication. Unless there was a full moon. Then who knew how their strength would manifest itself? But, there had been no full moon tonight. So, how had those over grown canines managed to get the upper hand in the werewolf-vampire throw-down? It affronted his sense of what was right.

He was standing a short distance from the trailer. It was in darkness. The bodies of dead werewolves were still strewn everywhere. He could smell one. A live one. It was the female. In the trailer. Sleeping. He listened to her breathe. Tyler Lockwood's scent was still in the air. But faded. The kid must have gone. Good. The fledgling werewolf had made it obvious whose side he was on when he blew off Caroline. Bad move on Tyler's part. What had Blondie been doing with that pretentious low-life anyway? She'd had better taste, once. He'd have to have words.

A twig snapped somewhere behind him. The sound of a careful footfall misplaced. He spun around. Scanned the darkness. The odor of sweaty dog wafted through the still, cold air. Far enough away. Yet close enough to pursue. He wasn't sure how acute werewolves' hearing was. Probably pretty damn good. Because they were truly animals. Who hunted their prey through heightened senses. Like vampires. Only maybe better.

Either way. He moved cautiously. Swiftly. Fangs out. Tracking. The werewolf was also moving. Further back into the woods. Making less of an effort to be silent. He wondered briefly if he was being drawn into a trap. Maybe additional lycanthropes had been summoned and were waiting for him in the clearing. That could prove awkward. He ran through the list of options. Hell, there was only one. Kill everything that moved and be the last one standing.

But he would have heard and smelled other creatures. So there was just Brady. And the werewolf had come to a halt. He seemed to be waiting. Great. A late night fight. The best kind. One on one. Vampire on werewolf. He approached the still beast slowly. Carefully. Yellow eyes glinted back at him. Wary. Watchful.

"Out for walkies?" He forced his body to remain rigid, upright. He wouldn't stoop, not for this filth.

The dog's lip curled. "You and I have unfinished business. I'm surprised you had the nerve to show up and finish it. I thought I'd have to track you down."

He refused to rise to the bait. "I take it you thought leading me out here into the middle of nowhere would keep your bitch safe from me?" He chuckled, deep and throaty. Licked his lips. Lewd yet threatening suggestion. He was good at those.

The werewolf pounced, but he was ready. Their collision ripped through the silence. Tearing flesh, blinding anger, a single racing heart. He was stronger. But only slightly. The mutt was on his back, his shocked yet indignant face staring up at him.

Now he could laugh. Laugh before he plunged his hand into that impudent creature's chest and rip out his heart.

But there was nothing, nothing except searing pain. Then extraordinary weakness. He was on his knees, falling onto his side. Damp leaves pressed into his skin. Decaying, vegetative mould under his fingernails. How was this possible? He wasn't about to die. Not like this. Not in the mud. Not at the hands of this unworthy rival.

He struggled back to his knees, the beast above him, the little torture toy barely visible. Something small, wooden, vervain laced... The worst part of his defeat, the dog's hot breath on his face as he whispered his victory.

"Who's the bitch now?" Howling laughter. Darkness.

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><p>The repeated slapping would have been sure to do it, but the hunting knife plunged into his thigh was a good backup. He came around swallowing a scream.<p>

Christ. He was alone with the very werewolf he had tracked to kill. And without the upper hand. Tied up. God knows where. The vervain making him feel sick. Groggy. This wasn't looking promising. Hell. Now, this would be a good time for one of Elijah's witchy minions to show up and pierce the mutt's ears. Hell, he'd even settle for Sabrina the nose-bleeding witch.

The dog laughed, sat back in his indoor garden chair and rocked a little. "Where are we?" God, he had to spit his own blood onto the ratty carpet. Undignified.

"I'm the one asking the questions here, bloodsucker." A wooden bullet shot straight through his shin. Shit, this was starting to become annoying. Not to mention painful. And, truth be told, he was actually starting to feel a touch anxious about where this was heading.

'Don't let him see it', he told himself sternly. 'Don't let him see you bite your own tongue to stop from shouting out.'

"I've had worse scratches during sex." That was good. The werewolf didn't like that. Didn't respond well to being made fun of. That meant he had a weakness, a useful character flaw. The man in the beast was quick to anger, easy to rile. He was very familiar with that human quality. He could work with it.

The werewolf reloaded his gun, but appeared to have limited ammo. He guessed the rest of it was in Caroline. He needed the man-beast to move closer, to make a connection. These chains chaffing at his wrists and ankles stopped him from using his body. Taunting was the only weapon he had. And he was going to use it.

"Want to hurt me, don't you? Want to stick more things in me? You know what they say about men with big stakes." He scoffed.

"Shut the fuck up!" The second bullet went right through his left kneecap. Shattering bone, blood spewing forth. Then despite himself, there was darkness again.

Coming to, healing. Bones knitting together at an accelerated rate. He had to make the pain his friend, embrace it. Keep it close. That had been too much, too fast. The dog's temper was too quick. He had to slow down. Licking his dry lips he began again.

"Spare a vamp a cup of blood, would you?" He enjoyed the look he got. Brady was stood at the window, his hand on the curtain, flinching as headlights passed. Hardly any traffic – where were they? A motel? And now that he came to think of it, where was the bitch?

"You left your woman behind? Unguarded? Stefan _will_ enjoy that…"

"She's quite capable on her own! There is enough ammo in that RV to take down every single one of you fangers in this hellhole of a town. So shut the hell up." The mutt ran his hand over his buzz cut. He could see the web of scars covering the animal's skull. Knew he'd scored another point. Brady was now distracted. Thinking about the possibility of Stefan and Jules. Alone in the woods.

The werewolf strode angrily to the filthy kitchenette fridge. Opened a warm beer that fizzed up over his hands. "Fuck!"

"Let me have some of that." He didn't actually want the liquid. Alcohol would only serve to dampen his thirst for blood. He just needed the werewolf to approach. Brady gave him a look. Apparently hell would freeze over first. "What? What could I possibly do to you? You have me tied up tighter than a ten dollar whore."

The werewolf regarded him with those steely grey, yellow-flecked eyes. "And why would I share a beer with you? This isn't a social event. You have something I need. Simple as that. You tell me where it is and you walk out of here. Alive. Or, undead. Whatever."

He snorted. "Yeah, right. You'd let me walk out. Somehow I doubt that. You don't strike me as the 'let's make a deal' type. You're a mutt. A dog. Who'd turn on his owner for a piece of meat. So, why would I tell you anything?"

Pain registered. Another vervain-dipped bullet, this one lodging in his left shoulder. Drawing in a quick breath he flicked his captor a searing look from clear blue eyes. "Mmm, this is getting boring. If that's all you've got, keep going. Fire away. Bring it on, doggie."

"You're fucking sick, man." Brady raised his eyebrows.

"You better believe it. And I won't be telling you a damn thing. No matter what other half-assed torture devices you've got hidden around this god-forsaken room." The werewolf snarled. Nice. He had him where he wanted him. Discombobulated. Pissed off.

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><p>The werewolf quickly crossed the room. Hit him hard across the face. Hard. Christ, this guy had a hair trigger. Hadn't anyone taught him restraint? What's more, he could use an hour or two at charm school. Clearly he had skipped both and jumped straight to unhinged asshole. It wasn't difficult to understand the wolf's strategy. Inflict pain.<p>

"What is it that you want anyway? What is worth the price of my freedom? I'm assuming it isn't lessons in how to effectively torture. Because apparently you can't be taught that. But, I am curious. What could I possibly have that would be helpful to you and your pack of flea-bitten mongrels? Good manners? Smoldering good looks? Deodorant?"

Brady sneered. "The moonstone. You know where the moonstone is. And I want it." He leaned in and breathed over him, a steel glint in his eyes. "But go ahead, don't share. I'm happy to send you back to your friends a piece at a time. One for every heart you and your pretty-boy brother ripped from my friends. And I'll save your head - your head will be for Mason…"

The werewolf's voice cracked as he said the name, but he quickly recovered. But not quickly enough. There, that tone, the hint of – what was it? More than grief. So, Mason meant more to him than the others. Maybe even more than that she-bitch… He wondered if she knew that. Interesting.

"Well, you clearly don't have a clue how the killing of a vampire works. Because if you did, you would know that there will be no 'pieces.' 'No head-on-a-platter'. You're confusing the killing of the undead with the unimaginative rituals of the human mafia." He kept his tone glib. But shit. If the werewolves knew about the moonstone it would only make things more difficult. There was now more at stake. Much more. He had to tread carefully.

The man was obviously violent – that was clear from the numerous scars riddling his body - but he wasn't a psycho. He knew his way around vampires. Captured them. Tortured them. To write him off as lacking in intelligence, a simple thug, could be a fatal mistake. He was confident that the dog would kill him without hesitation if pushed too far. Moonstone or no moonstone.

"Brady. That's your name isn't it?" The werewolf didn't respond. "Well, Brady, I have too much vervain in my system. You know that's true. And, so, if you don't help me dig this bullet out, I am going to pass out again. Then you won't have a rat's chance in hell of getting that moonstone before my brother tracks you down." Brady's eyes were wary. Weighing the truth.

'Come on' he thought impatiently. He needed the werewolf to take the bait. He could sense that the other male was nervous about being here alone with him. That he didn't like being separated from his pack. And he now knew that other thing too. The thing that Brady tried to hide. That indefinable quality that made men approach the rugged werewolf in bars, men that he always disappointed… or did he always disappoint? He flicked his eyes to the wolf. "Help me get this bullet out of my shoulder, or it's all over."

'Come on, come on… buy it….' he groaned inwardly. Brady just stood there swigging his damn beer. Apparently thinking. Deciding. And then…finally. The increasingly jumpy lupine screwed up the empty can and tossed it. Decision made, Brady walked over and jiggled the knife loose from his thigh. Damn, that hurt like a son-of –a-bitch. No pun intended.

He let the pain reflect in his face, just enough so the other would believe he was still incapacitated. "Hold still. You come near me with those fucking fangs, vamp, and I'll start with your balls."

"Delightful. Could you? Please?"

Good, Brady was close now. He could smell him clearly. A mixture of sweat, fear and the alcohol he had recently consumed. The dog was trying to still his shaking hands. Trying to calm his breathing, but the thumping heart was giving him away. Perfect. The werewolf's fear was going to play right into his hands.

"Who'd have thought it," he taunted, "the big, bad wolf afraid of a little bite." Brady ignored the obvious attempts at ridicule, straddled him and dug in the knife. A cry escaped his lips. Faking pain was not necessary. His body went rigid and he pulled against his chains. He hated having his hands tied behind his back. He felt too open. Too vulnerable. He grimaced as the wolf worked.

"Stop pulling away, goddamn it." Brady complained. He dug deeper, carelessly. His mission, obviously, was to retrieve the bullet, not to do it with precision. The knife was deep in his flesh, flesh that battled to heal against the fingers working inside.

"Get it out!" He hated the desperation in his voice.

"I would if you'd stop wriggling so damn much." The wolf's weight shifted, he was almost sitting on him now, pressing taut legs against thighs. The heavier male's arm moved swiftly around to the back of his head, struggling to get a better grip. The weight of Brady pressed down on him as the panting wolf carried out the task of removing the deeply imbedded bullet, the physical distance between them closing with each thrust of the knife. He could almost taste the sharp tang of Brady's sweat. Could see the carotid artery that jumped within striking distance. He stared, hypnotized, as the blood within it pulsed. Taunting him.

Then, without warning, it all stopped. The pain, the inner struggle to strike out with fangs, the craving for blood. Brady sat back on his knees and displayed the bullet with undisguised pride. He found himself actually warming to the dog's evident pleasure.

"There. Now you can stop your whining. I thought you vampires were super-human." Brady stepped back. Removing body weight and warmth. He found he missed the body contact. Perhaps because it was a feeling other than pain. Comfort. Or something more.

"I could have killed you." He called after the werewolf as the male walked over and threw the bullet into the sink. He actually didn't know if a vampire's bite could kill a werewolf. But it sounded like a concession. A gesture of goodwill. The wolf's shoulders flexed. "I could have," he added petulantly, for good measure, "but I didn't."

Brady took his time turning around. "So what do you want? A medal?" His tone, sarcastic. The look, a mocking sneer. The craggy male strode back across the room towards him. A distinctive swagger, unmistakable – almost… sexy? Christ. Where the hell had that thought come from? He shook his head, trying to re-focus.

"No, a deal. I want to walk out of here. Undead. And with all my body parts."

The wolf laughed. "I've already told you. You tell me where the moonstone is. I go get the moonstone. Then you get to walk away."

"No. I don't think so. We both know that's not how it works." He couldn't believe what he was about to do. Oh well. All was fair in love and war, or at least in getting the hell out of a crappy hotel room, away from a sociopathic werewolf.

He forced himself to relax his body. Lowered his shoulders. Cocked his head to the side. Practically pouted with his lips. Pleaded with his eyes. He gathered that compulsion didn't work on these creatures but his baby blues still had their own merits. Hell. He'd been seducing humans for decades. Surely a werewolf wasn't that different and would easily succumb to the art of sexual persuasion.

He spoke seductively, "You untie me and then I'll take you to the moonstone. And then we both walk away." "Do you think I'm stupid?" Brady bared his teeth, an instinctive canine response. Crap. Apparently his come-hither look had been wasted on the canine.

He decided that honesty might be the easiest card to play at this point. "I don't think you're stupid. I think you're smart. Smart enough to know that I will never tell you where the moonstone is. Not while I'm tied up in this dump. We have to arrive at a mutually satisfactory arrangement. Or else we'll both be here until your clan or mine tracks us down. And then no-one wins."

The wolf went quiet. This was the moment. He had to drive his advantage home. "Untie me. You have my word. As a very old, honorable gentleman. I will take you to the moonstone. Unharmed." Silence.

And, then, he was standing. Unchained. Free. Well, perhaps that was a rather optimistic assessment of the situation. Because Brady was training a rather imposing bow gun on his chest and it stood to reason that the partially visible, ominously overgrown darts weren't designed for taking down just any wild creature. Great. He supposed that it was back to his original strategy. Using his words rather than his fists.

It would be an added bonus if that plan also resulted in Brady moaning. In pain or with pleasure. Brady's choice.


	2. Prey

**Final chapter! Slash ahead. Please let us know what you think of our first collaborative effort, we had fun writing this and we hope you like our story.**

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><p><strong>Chapter Two: Prey<strong>

"Is that really necessary?" he drawled, lifting an arm to point towards the weapon drawn on him. "I mean, seriously dude, overkill. We both know that I'm weak right now. It wouldn't even be a fair fight. You'd take me down in a flash if I tried any funny business. And, honestly. How are you going to walk around pointing that thing? It's awkward. Cumbersome. I say, ditch the machinery and trust that I'll be a good boy. After all, I did give you my word." He flashed his most winning smile.

The werewolf glared at him from behind the crosshairs. "Yeah, you gave me your word. And I know what a vampire's promise is good for. Nothing. So get moving."

Jeez. This guy was such a hard ass. Werewolves as a species were turning out to be rather obnoxious. Stubborn. And extremely distrustful. Maybe it had something to do with the years of vampire persecution. Being tracked into virtual extinction. Well, whatever the reason, Brady was proving to be a challenge.

He decided to try a different tactic. "Brady. Come on," he spoke persuasively, "we should be on the same side here. We both want the curse broken. Just because your people and my people haven't got along in the past doesn't mean that you and I can't work together. Hell. This stupid curse wasn't our doing We're a new generation of superior supernatural beings. A fore thinking breed. We have to think 'self-preservation'. Band together as 'otherworldly' brothers. Form an alliance. You know, strength in numbers and all that. Imagine. Vampires and werewolves existing peacefully side by side. United. It would be awesome. Epic. Watch out world!" He spread his arms wide for effect.

The lycanthrope's expression had changed from bewildered to incredulous within the span of his speech. The wolf lowered the cross bow but didn't disengage. "I'd heard you described as insane but I thought that was just exaggeration. But, hell, you really are just plain, old-fashioned crazy. Partners? Us? Never going to happen. And you - you are starting to piss me off. I want that freakin' moonstone. Tonight."

And before the wolf's final word was complete, he had moved. Torn the weapon from the werewolf's grasp. Tossed it aside. Brady came at him in a charge, his body thrust against him, his superior reflexes knocking him to one side. It seemed as though the remaining vervain in his system truly had diminished his strength and speed. There was no way he was going to be able to gain the upper hand. He contented himself for the moment with blocking punches, sidestepping lunges.

Then sensing, rather than seeing, an opening in the lupine's defense he took it, shoving Brady backwards. Hard. They fell through the doorway of the small and rather filthy washroom. Their grappling causing them to crash together into the small, confined space of the shower stall.

He grabbed Brady's hands roughly, slapping them against the shower wall, pinning them up above the wolf's head. He clamped the muscular thighs together with his own legs and stared into the animalistic eyes that regarded him circumspectly.

The wolf's ragged breathing echoed in the cramped space. Brady struggled against restraint like a wild beast, but to no avail. Like hell would he allow himself to lose this hard won advantage.

"Don't make me kill you Brady. There's been enough blood spilled tonight." The wolf regarded him suspiciously, but he did stop struggling. His body relaxed back onto the cruddy tiled wall.

Narrowing his eyes, he thought about the situation. Something didn't quite add up. "Yeah. I'm not really buying that 'I want the moonstone now' crap. I don't care what you say. Your furry friends may be all about the moonstone. But you came here because of Mason Lockwood. You want revenge. I think he must have meant a lot to you." He tightened his grip and smirked as he added, "Capturing vampires is clearly dangerous work."

He felt the man tense. Heard his breath catch. "We were old friends. Had been through a lot together. I told him not to come up here. Told him I'd come with him. But he wouldn't listen. Look where it got him. I have you to thank for that."

"It was necessary." The werewolf just closed his eyes. "Yeah," he responded sadly, "killing us always is."

"So. Your master's dead. Poor doggy. Maybe you need a new master now" he leered suggestively.

"Fuck you! Fuck you and the rest of you fangers!" Brady began to struggle again. It was now or never. He leaned in. Pressed his cool lips against the wolf's. The shock of the unexpected act momentarily caused the tension to leave the werewolf's body.

Then somehow, with a renewed surge of power, Brady managed to free his hands. Dammit. This guy just couldn't give it up. The werewolf getting free was not in the plan.

If he had had a heart, it would have been beating double time. The wolf grabbed him roughly by the shoulders. He cursed the vervain for making him slow and braced himself for what was to come. He'd probably get tossed across the bathroom like a ragdoll. When it didn't happen, he inwardly smiled. Hah. Knew his instincts had been right.

"What the fuck are you doing?" The dog asked him, that ever-present anger in his voice. Brady had more anger inside him than anyone he ever knew. Including himself.

"I can't bring Mason back. But I can ease the pain, at least for a little while." He used his eyes, turning them to liquid sapphire pools, inviting him, daring him. Brady was breathing hard. Straddling him like this, standing chest to chest, he could feel the man's heart beating erratically. He could sense his hesitancy, his confusion.

He had to confess. It mattered to him how this played out. Maybe he wanted warmth, contact. This wolf had proved tonight that he was - well, if not his superior, then certainly his equal. He had always loved a challenge. Always been attracted to danger. Brady was both. He liked that. Either way, he had played his cards. The next move was the werewolf's.

Brady's fingers buried themselves in his shoulder blades, each one leaving their mark. The wolf appeared to have reached a decision. Pulled him in. His hot, clumsy kiss springing the trap.

So, that was that. The situation he had manipulated. The one the wolf made him work so hard to get. So why did it feel like he was the one who had been snared?

The bigger man now reversed their positions, pushing him up against the cold tiles. He began to kiss the damn breath out of him. Luckily he didn't need it anyway. Brady's hands were everywhere, demanding, pushing, pulling. This guy had to do everything hard, even sex.

Well, he could take it. Wanted it even. The hot breath, the hard muscular body, both served to feed his own desire. He pitched his arm around the wolf's back and pulled him closer, seeking full body contact. But in this, as in everything, the wolf resisted, pulling back, panting. Brady glared. Like he still wanted to kill him.

His vampire senses may have been about as useful as a dead car battery right now, but he had been around enough to know that amongst a whole heap of conflicted emotions, the one front and centre was Brady's desire. Desire trumping the need for revenge. He was safe. For now.

With vampire speed, he drove Brady backwards to the opposite side of the shower stall. Brady's back against the wall. He felt more in control this way, more dominant. The werewolf responded by pulling him in for a kiss. Bruised his lips. Urgent and demanding. This was crazy. But totally hot.

He ripped open the werewolf's shirt. Admired the chiseled, muscled body laced with scars. He reached out and tried to run a fingertip over a particularly angry looking scar that started on the wolf's abdomen and ended on his hip. His hand was slapped away. Too close to tenderness. That was not what this is about. Message received.

He reached lower, searching for the belt buckle with one hand while stroking the cock straining against the restrictive fabric with the other. Brady moaned, involuntarily. But it was the encouragement he had been seeking. He tugged open the offending buckle and made quick work of the button fly. His hand slipped inside and freed the big pulsing cock. Grasped it and pumped it a couple of times until the wolf shuddered. Brady attacked his neck, his collarbone, nipping on his flesh with every stroke on his cock.

Christ, this was fast, hard and furious. Not his usual style, but, hell, it was so turning him on. His own cock twitched in response. He wanted this, wanted it all. Dropping to his knees, he leaned forward, took Brady into his mouth. Ran his tongue around him, tasted his salt. The werewolf made a guttural sound, clamped a hand on the back of his head and a made a fist with his hair. Pulled. A reminder - nothing tender.

He was tempted to bite down, but didn't; he took the man's length and choked on it, sucked and tugged - felt his veined warmth filling him. He coursed his tongue over him, dragging at the wolf's skin. He roughly pulled the man's pants down and clamped his hand on Brady's ass. Gripped the taut flesh, not being too sweet with how he buried his fingers. The wolf moved against him, pumped from his hips, the only softness here was in his sigh. He worked up and down the shaft, taking in that unique smell of him. Under the arousal was something of the woods. Wildness.

Brady was threatening to go off, so he pulled back. Slowly returned to standing, crawling upwards along the werewolf's hard body, trailing small bites along his torso. The wolf was on his lips once more, his tongue battling for supremacy in his mouth. This was quickly becoming not enough. He needed the werewolf to take some action. To indicate that he was ready for more.

Finally. The werewolf allowed himself to take the next step. Before his mind registered the wolf's intent, his own pants were down around his ankles; Brady's impatience causing them to rip. He stepped out and threw the ruined jeans onto the growing pile of discarded clothing.

The wolf's coarse hands were on his throbbing cock. His large grip encompassing the entire length of him. Brady began to stroke. Roughly. Tightly. Settling for a rhythm that was too quick, too out of control. There was much pleasure to be found in that pain.

He groaned, throwing his head back. Shit. This was fast getting out of hand. Actually, it was well in hand. He opened his eyes to meet the watchful gaze of the dog's. He realized he couldn't take much more of this. Surprising. He thought he had more self control when it came to sex. He was usually the one setting the pace. Reaching down, he grabbed the wolf's wrist.

"What?" Brady muttered into his mouth.

"Slow down." A smile spread across the wolf's face, he took that as a victory. Well, so what if it was? He grabbed Brady by the shoulder and turned him so that the werewolf was facing into the wall. Felt the taut body push back against his own. He hastily kissed down the man's muscled back and over his ass, pushed the cheeks aside and slipped his tongue between them.

The wolf responded to that. Kicked out, flexed and moaned. He gripped Brady's ass tight and lapped at him, loved how in control he was now, reveling in the sour tang of him. That fucking poison which had so long dulled his senses was now leaving his system and letting him wake up to the taste of this man.

At some point, Brady had turned on the shower. The scalding water poured over them, wetting them, slicking their bodies. Brady's skin glowing, becoming slippery to the touch. He couldn't hold back any longer. He was harder than he'd ever been. He needed to be inside this body. To be the one. Brady finally allowing himself to be fucked. He ached to feel the werewolf's response to having a man enter him.

He pushed the wolf's legs further apart. Brady was leaning his head into the crook of his elbow, bracing himself against the shower wall. Hesitating for only a moment, he slid his wet cock slowly into the waiting werewolf. The werewolf growled, no resistance, just pleasure.

The dryness of inner heat against the slickness of penetration. It was beyond anything he'd ever experienced. He felt Brady respond. The werewolf shuddered. Threw his head back. Met his lips with something approaching tenderness. He began to move. Cautiously at first. But Brady met him thrust for thrust. His own movements became quicker. Harder. The water running between them, over them. Causing them to slide against each other in desire, with urgency.

And then it became just Brady, the water, and the ecstasy of it all. The two of them joined. Moving together. Time was suspended.

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><p>He had to admit it, the sex had been incredible. Perhaps because his heightened senses had returned. Or maybe because his strength had finally been restored. Or maybe because he had wanted it. And he had definitely wanted it.<p>

And yet. The one thing he had not counted on was his growing attraction to the wolf. He had been so locked into their cat and mouse game. But at some point, the game had ceased to matter. He had just wanted to give pleasure. To hear those moans. To be the reason behind the werewolf's contentment. And so when he finally came inside Brady, it wasn't success he had been thinking of, only the passion he felt.

Brady turned around. The water washed clean his stomach sticky with his own juices. He slowly turned off the faucets. Silence and steam filled the small space. The werewolf side-stepped around him and walked into the bedroom. Still naked. Looking vulnerable. Drained. Weak, when he had half expected him to resume the fight.

Well, this was an unexpected turn of events. He wrapped a towel around his waist and followed the werewolf out of the bathroom. Found himself wondering what the werewolf was thinking. He waited.

"Just kill me then." Brady eventually muttered, looking back at him. "Rip out my heart and get it over with. We both know that's where this is heading. So, hurry up. You win. You fucking vampires always win."

He couldn't help himself. He laughed. "Oh my God. You're just going to roll over? Play dead? What a pussy. Thought you were the Alpha-dog type. I gotta say. I'm terribly disappointed, Brady. No wonder your breed is nearly extinct. If that's the fight mentality of your pack."

The werewolf shook his head slowly side to side. "You don't get it, man. Our kind is dwindling in numbers. Quickly. Especially now that more and more of you fangers are realizing we werewolves actually do exist. What are we supposed to do? Tuck our tails between our legs and run away? That moonstone was really our last hope. If we could turn at will, we'd have a fighting chance against you monsters. As it stands, we can only kill your type once a month. And that's not going to cut it. So, whatever."

He digested this for a moment. Despite what had just transpired, it still didn't make sense that the werewolf was giving up. He had seemed so full of anger. So set on revenge, so determined in his quest for the moonstone.

"I'm not going to kill you Brady." Geez, did he really just say that? Wasn't that his plan all along? Fuck him and then kill him. He had grown soft, literally and metaphorically. The wolf just snorted with derision.

"Hey." He crossed the room quickly, gripped the man's chin with his hand and looked him in the eyes. "I mean what I say." He was getting annoyed, where was the fierce combatant he'd faced all night?

"If I don't return with the moonstone, you might as well kill me. There would be no point in us staying here, no point in trying to break the curse." He shook his head. He wasn't going to kill the werewolf. Not tonight. "So," sighed Brady, "you're going to let me go. Just like that."

"I guess so. Hey, believe me. You are no more surprised than I am." The wolf searched his eyes, full of doubt. Doubt and sadness.

"What just happened here?" Brady whispered. The werewolf looked towards him for an answer. But he didn't have one. At least, nothing that would make sense when spoken aloud. He felt a stab of regret. A sense of loneliness settled over him. He knew he had to end this. Whatever 'this' was. And he had to end it now. Before the mood changed. Before the night ended. Before he came to his senses.

"Just get out of here, Brady. Leave this thing alone. Get dressed, leave your shitty vampire-attack toys, go back to your pack and get out of this town."

"And the moonstone?" The werewolf looked at him seriously. A look that carried the weight of the world.

"Stays where it is." He threw on his clothes and moved to the exit. He hesitated in the doorframe, thinking there was so much more to say, but the words wouldn't come. He knew that daylight would find them enemies once more. And that the next werewolf-vampire encounter would result in one of them not walking away. He stepped into the night without looking back.


End file.
